


Sherlock, Unthinking

by I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: Sherlock has found a new addiction and it begins with the letter S.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I have unstructured time. 
> 
> By the way, the conversation that Sherlock recalls with John when he asks John what he's thinking about and John says, "Nothing?" That conversation? Yeah? 
> 
> That is based on an actual REAL LIFE conversation I had with my husband that left me as baffled as Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock was a junkie. He knew this about himself. _Everyone_ knew this about him. Drugs. The Game. Great addictions. Fantastic addictions.

Okay, maybe not the drugs so much.

But The Game – _great_ addiction, and now Sherlock had a new addiction.

"I can't, Sherlock! I have a shift tomorrow. I've got to get Rosie up, get her ready, and drop her off at nursery at 6:00 so I can be at the surgery at seven. I'm not like you. I can't go without sleep. I'm getting old."

"I'll drop Rosie off," Sherlock said, trying to get John's clothes off.

"Go take care of yourself in the bathroom like normal men do when their wives – husbands – refuse to have sex with them."

"But I'm not a normal man."

"No. You really are not. At all."

"Look at you, John, you're already getting hard," Sherlock said, slipping between John's legs, pulling his shirt up as he went.

"Top or bottom?"

"Bottom," Sherlock said, grinning.

"And you'll get up and get Rosie fed and dressed and dropped off at nursery so I can have the extra hour of sleep?"

"I'll do your shift for you, even. I could probably do it just as well as you."

"You're a fucking wanker," John said, letting Sherlock kiss his neck.

"No, I am not, in fact, a wanker, which is why you have to fuck me."

"I should have never – "

"Shush! Do not speak of such things! You have _no idea_ how high this makes me! It's like solving cases but whilst lying down!"

"If by _lying down_ , you mean _on my hands and knees like the dirty little slut I am_ ," John said and then flipped Sherlock onto his stomach. John could feel Sherlock grinning underneath him.

"Is this the sex version of Beethoven's Violin Sonata No. 9?" Sherlock asked, hunger making his voice hoarse, adding a special note to the usual rumbling sound.

"Yes. Except not in public," John said, digging through the drawer. "What did you do with the – "

Sherlock tossed the lube over his shoulder.

"You _are_ a dirty little slut!" John said.

"Only for you, John. Now less talking and more – "

John slapped his arse, hard enough to push Sherlock forward. His handprint immediately flared up bright red.

"Why did you – "

John slapped the other side of arse.

"Mm," John said. "That's lovely. Very pink."

"That hurt!"

"That was the point, Sherlock."

"But what did I – "

 _Smack_.

"Are you – "

_Smack._

Silence.

"I always did say you were a smart bastard," John said, and kissed each bright red cheek. "I'm going to have to smack your arse more often if it means it shuts you up."

Silence.

"Oh, what a very good boy you are," John murmured and when Sherlock made a little noise like he was trying to keep a much louder, dirtier noise inside, John eased himself slowly inside Sherlock, their bodies familiar with each other in a new way now but the process still careful, unhurried.

At least until they were _in_. And then, not always so careful. Or unhurried.

For all of his complaints of fatigue, John could never resist Sherlock on bottom. Especially not when he was like this, arse in the air, his face and shoulders pressed against the bed, pushing back against John as though no matter how deeply joined together they were it just wasn't enough. He was like a very large puppy, eager to play and unable to comprehend why anyone would do anything _other than_ playing. _It's all I think about_ , Sherlock had said a few weeks after their first time together when he had woken John up in the middle of the night, his cock pressing between John's legs. John said _would you have just fucked me if I hadn't woken up?_ and Sherlock had paused and John had said _for fuck's sake, Sherlock!_ And Sherlock had said _exactly! I want to fuck you just for the sake of fucking._

There was tenderness and sweetness sometimes. _Making love_.

Then there was fucking.

Right then John was _fucking_ Sherlock, whose ass was still red and who turned his face to moan into the mattress because he would never admit it, but he liked the idea of John subduing him. It was what John had always been best at as far as their personal, and now intimate, relationship went – however he had to do it, John took the edge off of being Sherlock. John would fuck him as hard as Sherlock gave him unspoken permission to.

Addiction was physical because it was chemical and Sherlock knew this and he knew that the reason he did drugs or solved cases or let John fuck him as hard as he could handle was because Sherlock's mind _never – stopped – going_. The more he went around and around his head the faster his head went and the faster it went, the more it went around and around until everything was too much and not enough at the same time and there was no way off of that ride.

One day John had been staring out the window and Sherlock had asked _what are you looking at? Nothing._ John said. _What are you thinking about, then? Nothing_ , John had said.

Sherlock had stared and stared, thinking – _he's being funny. Surely he isn't actually capable of thinking about nothing._ He had laughed and said, _well, even if you're not thinking about something specific, you're still THINKING, right?_ John had turned around and looked at him, his brow creased in the middle and John had said, _No. I wasn't thinking about anything._

Sherlock had thought – _but how? How does he just turn it off like that?_

Sherlock would never admit it to anyone but he desperately wanted to turn it off sometimes. Even to John, he would never say it out loud – John just _knew_ that he needed it. When John rode him brutally like this, it silenced his brain. He could see things _oh, that rug has a worn spot_ and his brain would say _okay_ and then let it go. It wasn't even about the orgasm although orgasms were one of those things – now that he had them, it was very difficult to imagine giving them up.

It was about _not_ being Sherlock for ten minutes. Or fifteen. Sometimes even longer, because John had _incredible_ stamina, which was one of the reasons it was harder to commit him to having sex. _I'm not like you. It takes longer._

It was true. Sherlock had _no_ stamina. He came far too quickly and the fact that he could do it again soon after wasn't always the most comfort unless John was in one of his _let's see how many times we can make Sherlock come in an hour_ moods. He had learnt to give John an orgasm first, every time, when he was on top and when he was on bottom, he didn't touch his cock. At all. He came without it when John was fucking him.

 _It's because I'm a god in the sack_ John had said and Sherlock had replied thoughtfully, _no, I think it would be that way with anyone_ and then looked up at John's glare and said _oh, that wasn't the right thing to say_ , feeling sheepish because sometimes he still got that kind of thing wrong.

A blow job or a hand job was different; his brain maintained some control. But not when John was fucking him.

"Maybe it really is because you're a god in the sack," Sherlock gasped.

"Hm?" John said behind him, clearly having disappeared himself into the physical pleasure. Of course, John could turn off his brain at will. Sherlock felt John slowing down and thought _shit_. He hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Uh – I said – I really want to give it – back," Sherlock said and winced.

"Hm. Nope. No, I don't think that is at all what you said."

John stopped fucking him and Sherlock groaned.

"Don't stop!"

"I can't hear you, what?" John said and slipped his hand in a circle over one of Sherlock's arse cheeks, which was still stinging pleasantly.

"I said don't – "

 _Smack_.

 _Fuuuuck_ , Sherlock thought.

"I thought it was something about a back? Or maybe a sack? I think I'm gonna need you to repeat it."

"If I – "

 _Smack_.

"Nope," John said. "I don't think it began with _If I_. I think it started with _John, you…?"_

"I didn't start with – "

_Smack._

"I said _maybe_ – "

 _Smack_.

Sherlock thought _fuuuck_  about three times.

"John, you – " Sherlock said and paused because he knew –

"What was that, Sherlock?"

" _might be_ – "

 _Smack_.

\- as soon as he said it –

"John, you really are…maybe?"

_Smack._

\- John wouldn't have a reason to –

"John, you really are a nice – "

 _Smack._ – him anymore.

And the smacking really rather nicely turned his brain off.

**Author's Note:**

> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com  
> Teddy


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